They feared that the rebellion would suffer through this. They feared that the idea they fought for would be lost. They feared that people would obsess with it and become extremists— just as the resistance before them had become after losing their leader.

It would cost them the little sympathy they had. It would cost their— their family's sanity.

Right Hand would mock them forever for going soft if they had learned Leader called them a family.

But they no longer had the energy to lie to themselves. They no longer needed to protect themselves from the heartbreak that would come with the death of their close circle. They were dying before them. Their prayers for not seeing any of their team's death was accepted.

They tried the cuffs once more, a hand stopping them.

"You tried," Rebel One whispered. "Don't hurt yourself. It won't work."

"If I ever gave up when it—"

A guard shoved them to the wall, cutting their muttering.

"Don't speak."

"What about trying this after opening my binds?" They snarled.

"Leader!" Rebel Two hissed.

"And get a hole on my forehead like you? Thank you, but I value my life."

They couldn't hold back a laughter, the other two eyeing them with worry.

"And we're being run over by the government because of the fools like you. Have you ever thought that you shouldn't fear while you're doing your job?" they countered as their laughter died down.

The guard grew silent, and Leader turned to the other two.

"I think I can open your cuffs," they whispered.

Leader would die to protect the lit on the duo's eyes. They reminded Leader much of themselves with their sibling.

Their sibling, who was their trigger for standing up

They didn't want to think about that open wound, placing themselves in front of Rebel One as they reached to the cuffs. At least the duo had their hands at front, so it looked like they were just bundling up together.

One last time, Leader thought. They would get the duo out, but they weren't so sure about themselves.

It wasn't important.

It was hard to lift the plate covering the lock mechanism, but Leader's was determined. The two clicks were enough to assure Leader, the duo smiling as they placed the cuffs back like nothing happened.

"I want you to run when we get out of the vehicle."

"We're not—

"We're in no position to argue. And we all know the cuffs have a tracker inside. I won't risk your rescue."

"Still, we're not leaving you. You're our leader."

"And as your leader, I order you to run when you find the chance."

They still looked ready to protest, but Leader shot them a harsh look.

"Good."

The vehicle stopped soon after, the guard outside opening their cell and the one in targeting their weapon to Leader's back.

It would be a huge mistake if Leader didn't have their hands tied.

They sighed and motioned the others with a nod.

As soon as they stepped down to the concrete floor, they slammed their elbow to one of the guardians' stomach, the other motioning to them.

It was a mistake when there were multiple captives.

Keeping the attention on themselves, they managed to slam their head and break the nose of the guard that slammed them to the wall before. They were brought to their knees as a gun was slammed to their neck, their vision blurring for a moment.

"Did you really think that we wouldn't have a security around here? You only annoyed us more," Whumper chirped, throwing the two right in front of Leader.

A hitched breath escaped their lips.

"One would think a rat like you wouldn't have feelings. Where were they as you bombed and killed dozens of my people?"

No. Leader didn't attack to mere places. And people who weren't in mere places weren't very innocent.

Whumper pulled Leader from their collar. Leader was a lot shorter than them, and they were soon standing on their tips.

"I will enjoy the show you'll put up."

Leader could only snarl as they were dragged to somewhere else, the grunts of the duo following them. Their struggle was useless, their starved and unused body failing them in mere seconds.

"No one should realise that the nuisance they're dealing is just a mosquito buzzing at dark. Where's that sharp tongue of yours? You were more fun when we were gambling with the lives of our little pawns."

Their veins flared with anger as Whumper taunted them until they were brought to their knees under blinding lights. They squinted their burning eyes, their bones aching as Whumper pressed them down.

"Today I present you the murderer of many of our soldiers."

The crowd roared. Leader watched Whumper enjoy the attention before demanding silence with raising their hand. They turned to Leader, a wide and disgusting smile on their face.

"Your little rebellion dies with you tonight."

Leader's eyes finally succeeded to see the faces in the crowd, seeking a glimmer of understanding or empathy. Instead, they were met with cold stares and eager anticipation. The realization hit them like a physical blow—alone, vulnerable, and surrounded by the people either too afraid or brainwashed.

"You can kill me, but you can't shut the voices of reason," they just stared at Whumper. Whumper leaned on them a little, chuckling a little.

"I wish you had a microphone, but I couldn't risk you spreading your plague. Now tell it again."

"I said," they raised their voice but Whumper didn't let them finish, punching their face and sending them to the floor.

Leader spat blood onto the cold concrete, tasting the metallic bitterness. The crowd gasped, witnessing this for the first time.

Leader could perhaps go along with the show if they could show who actually was holding the strings of the government. And they had quite an image to destroy, Whumper's media experts were the best. But they didn't get much chance to do that.

Whumper didn't stop with a punch.

Kicks and hits targeted their openings, pain clouding their thoughts as their bones ached with each hit.

Whumper leaned in, whispering but spatting every word, "Your words mean nothing. You'll be forgotten, and your rebellion will die with you. Like a body with no head, it will crumble, and I will burn it down to ashes."

"They stood without me before," Leader wheezed as Whumper pulled them back to their knees.

"I was too busy with having fun with you that time. But without you in the frame, they will get all the attention. They deserve, don't they?"

"You don't dare."

"I'll enjoy every second of it."

With their body fueled by anger, they slammed their head to Whumper's mouth, causing them to stumble.

"You're weak," Leader panted as they stood. "You are nothing without the fear. And I don't fear you."

As the crowd watched in stunned silence, Whumper regained composure, wiping away the blood from their mouth.

"I dragged this out long enough," Whumper growled, drawing a dagger. "The sentence for disobedience is death. And your death will be an example for many."

Two guards forced them down, bending their arm and bowing their head.

"Severing your head would be kindness," Whumper came closer, stopping for a moment before striking with the dagger.

Leader gasped, unable to pull back as pain dug deeper.

Protests rose, the noise blending into the chaos of their own consciousness fading. But pain and shouts and tears and everything meant nothing.

Because they knew rebellion would move on, with Right Hand rushing to the stage and Rebel One disarming the guard holding them.

It was a good show. And Leader believed that the show would go on.

"They aren't taking you alive."

They felt the dagger crush their ribs as Whumper twisted it up, their breaths dying and body crumbling while Whumper pulled it back.

Leta had heard one of the guards complaining about witches attacking the farms and houses outside the town wall. Was this witch here because of that? Was she part of a group infiltrating the town? Were they going to- to-

Leta didn’t even know what they might do. There were just too many ways this could go horribly, horribly wrong. 

The witch turned her focus on Leta’s cell door. She did… something. Pulled something out of a pocket somewhere, and held it against the door. The lock whirred and clicked open.

These cells were supposed to keep townsfolk safe from mages. That was why Leta was locked in here in the first place. What good were they if a witch could just stroll in and open any door she pleased?

The witch pushed the door open and walked inside. The flames in her hand lit the cell with a flickering glow. Somehow it looked even worse in the firelight than it ever did when lit by a guard’s lantern.

She didn’t stop. She just kept coming, and there was nowhere for Leta to go. She was already pressed as far into the cell wall as she could physically go, the stone leeching precious heat from her body as it dug painfully into her. Leta couldn’t help but make a high, pathetic noise as the witch kept coming closer. 

She was shivering. She had thought herself too cold to muster the energy for such movement any longer. Apparently the witch with her handful of flames sparked something in Leta, uncovered some reserve of energy that the cold hadn’t yet stolen from her.

The witch crouched down when she was barely more than an arm’s length away. She tilted her head to one side, eyes raking up and down Leta’s form.

“Hello,” she said. Her voice was low and comforting, like the crackle of a hearth-fire. “My name is Velissa. What’s yours?”

Leta shook her head, eyes never leaving the witch’s—Velissa’s—face. 

“How long have you been in here?” Velissa asked.

Leta just shook her head again. She honestly didn’t know. Everything was so hard to keep track of, down in the dark, in the cold. 

Velissa sighed softly, and Leta tried not to flinch. She failed. The witch massaged her forehead with the knuckles of the hand not occupied by fire.

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked. 

Leta had to bite her lip at that. She did; she wanted that more than almost anything. But with a witch?

Go, something deep in her chest urged her. It was the same place that had always held a certain warmth before the cell. Trust, and go. 

The near-numb emptiness she’d grown used to feeling there was gone, replaced by a shivery, tentative warmth. It was nothing like what had been there before. Before, it had felt like the warmth of sitting near a fire on a cold night: comforting and safe. Now? It felt more like a tiny candle flame on a dark and stormy night: one last hope in the face of all the odds.

Was that her magic? If it was, could she even trust it? Magic was dangerous. Everyone knew that. It was dangerous and wild and anyone who used it was likely to get eaten alive by it. If this connection that she felt, this impossible urge to agree with the witch, was from her magic, then surely it couldn’t be trusted. 

“Come on,” Velissa said, voice more urgent now. “You have to know what they’re going to do to you if you stay put. Do you really want that? Are you really going to turn down a chance at safety? At freedom?”

Leta bit her lip hard, trying to stay silent even as tears welled up in her eyes. She couldn’t. There was no way the witch was really going to save her. Not a town-girl like her. Why would she bother? This had to be a trick, a trap, something other than what it seemed. 

But if she didn’t… 

Leta knew the options that awaited her if she stayed. All of them ended with her death; the only differences were in the method, and how long she would suffer before the end came. Was that really better? 

Which should she choose: the certainty, or the unknown?

If she were a stronger person, she would stay. Would do as she knew she should, and not put her trust in a witch.

But Leta wasn’t strong. Leta was tired, and scared, and so very cold. 

“Please,” she said, voice weak and rough from disuse. 

“Please get me out.”

---

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